


Nothing That I Understand

by flurblewig



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flurblewig/pseuds/flurblewig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AtS S5.  Spike understands what Angel is -- he's the only one who can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing That I Understand

"Well," says Spike when Angel walks though the door of his apartment. "You certainly know how to make a night of it, don't you?"

 

Angel sits down on the sofa and begins to fight with his boots. "Get out, Spike. I've told you you're not welcome here."

 

"I know," says Spike. "That's what makes it all the more fun. So, did you have a good time with Wolfgirl? You kept her up way past her bedtime, seems like." He pauses. "Or did you? Did bedtime come and go already? Back at her place, maybe, or some flash hotel paid for on the company plastic? Or - no, that's not really your style, is it? Maybe an alley somewhere?"

 

Angel's jaw clenches, but he wrestles the anger back down. He won't rise to it, won't give Spike the satisfaction. Not this time.

 

He keeps his voice cool, level - even though it makes the muscles of his jaw ache even more. "What do you care?"

 

Spike shrugs. "Don't. Just curious, is all."

 

"Well, don't be. Do I poke my nose into your - your -"

 

"My sex life? No. You can if you want to, though. You know me, always happy to share."

 

Spike - has a sex life? Who has he - no. Angel clamps down on that thought. No. He's not going down that road.

 

"I'm not interested, Spike. In anything you think, do or say."

 

"Okay. It's your loss. In more ways than one. If you'd ever bothered to open your eyes you could have had - oh, but I forgot, you're not interested, are you?"

 

"No, I'm not."

 

"I am, though. And you still haven't answered my question."

 

"What question?" God, he's tired. He just wants to lie down, to relax. Is that really so much to ask?

 

"About our furry friend. Nina. And you. Until -" Spike pauses and looks at the clock on the wall. "Four in the morning."

 

"There's nothing to answer. We had dinner."

 

"For seven hours straight? Wow, that girl can eat. Must be the wolfy metabolism, huh?"

 

"No, not for seven hours. For an hour and a half. Then I left."

 

"What do you mean, you left?"

 

Angel runs a hand across his eyes. "I mean I left. Got up, put my coat on and walked out of the building. Does that paint a clear enough picture for you?"

 

"You stiffed her with the bill? Nice one."

 

"No, I didn't - oh for heaven's sake, Spike. I did not stiff her with - with anything, okay? We had dinner. It was nice. Then I left. That's it, that's all. End of story."

 

"Why?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Why was that the end of the story? Thought you liked her."

 

"I did. I do."

 

"So again: why? Why'd you leave early? And where'd you go?"

 

_I went looking for you, you stupid bastard. Because I thought you were out on the streets, looking for trouble. When you've obviously spent the whole fucking night in my own apartment drinking my own fucking beer._

 

"Just - around. I went for a walk. And as for why - well, because I'm an idiot." At least that 's the truth.

 

Spike cracks open another beer. "Well, you'll get no argument from me on that part, anyway." He grins. "Hey, we just agreed on something. That's gotta mean the end of the world is coming, right?"

 

Angel allows his shoulders to slump. Almost smiles. "Yeah, probably."

 

He realises Spike is holding out the bottle of beer to him. _His_ beer.

 

"Bastard," he says. But still reaches out and takes it. Spike's fingers brush his as he hands the bottle over, and Angel flinches.

 

Spike lets go, and Angel leans back into the sofa.

 

"'Told you, didn't I?" says Spike.

 

"Told me what?"

 

"That it wouldn't work. With the girl. That you wouldn't see it through."

 

He takes a step forward. "I know you, Angel. I know what you want. I know what you need."

 

"You know nothing about me, Spike."

 

"I know _everything_ about you."

 

Angel closes his eyes. Then you should know that what I want is for you to get the fuck out of here and leave me alone."

 

He jerks slightly as he feels hands come to rest on his knees, then begin to slide up the inside of his thighs. The denim of his jeans suddenly feels as constrictive as a straight jacket. He shifts slightly, and the hands drift over his hardening, traitorous cock.

 

"See?" says Spike's voice in his ear. "I know when you're lying."

 

He's not going to stand for this. He's going to get up, throw Spike off him and then out of his apartment. Out of the building, out of LA. Out of his life.

 

Any minute now, that's what he's going to do.

 

"I know where you want me," Spike continues, moving closer until his knees are resting on the sofa cushions outside of Angel's legs, and his own cock is grinding into Angel's groin. "It's on my knees, with your cock in my mouth, isn't it?"

 

He rips open Angel's shirt, the silk tearing under his hands, and bends his head to take a nipple lightly between his teeth. His tongue flicks out roughly, and Angel stifles a moan.

 

"Isn't it? Isn't it, Angel? That's where you want me. Isn't it?"

 

_No. No of course it isn't. I've got beyond that now, I'm not that guy any more._

 

"Yes," he growls, and pulls Spike's head up so that he can kiss him. Kiss the smirk off his face; kiss the lies back into that vicious, beautiful mouth.

 

"Yes, you fucking bastard," he says.

 

"Yeah," says Spike, wrenching his head out of Angel's grip and scraping fangs along Angel's shoulder. "Yeah, I missed you too."

 

Angel bucks as Spike's teeth break his skin, the sensation and the smell of blood shooting straight to his already aching cock. He feels his own features shift and change in response, that familiar, loathed and loved feeling of power and helplessness filling him. He throws Spike backwards onto the floor, pinning him down with the weight of his own body.

 

"Yeah," says Spike again. "That's it. That's what you need, isn't it? To be reminded of what you really are. You're not the Vampire fucking Lestat, whatever Wolfgirl and the others think. You're not a poor romantic hero who's just sad and misunderstood. I understand you, Angel, and I'm the only one who ever will. The only one who can."

 

Angel stares, his thoughts burned up by the fire in those glowing yellow eyes. No more thoughts, no more words. Just want, and need, and pain. He's not even sure he knows how to tell those things apart any more.

 

He tears Spike's clothes from his body, and drags his own fangs in a jagged, bloody line from throat to groin. Marking. Claiming.

 

"Mine," he growls.

 

Spike throws his head back, his hips pushing up against Angel's. "Think we established that a while ago, pet."

 

Angel reaches down and grabs Spike's straining cock, sliding his hand from the slippery tip to the base. Spike lets out a strangled groan, and finally that knowing, in-control grin is gone. "Fuck," he says. "Fuck, Angel. Yes."

 

Angel rolls off him just long enough to pull his own jeans off, hissing as his heavy, swollen cock slaps into his hand. He moves back to straddle Spike, reaching down to grind their cocks together. He clenches his other hand into a fist, nails breaking the skin, to keep himself from coming right there and then like a teenager. It's just been so long, so fucking long, and whatever gave Spike the right to be so fucking beautiful?

 

Spike pushes Angel off, then raises himself up to his knees, reaching out to his discarded jeans and wrestling a small tube out of one of the pockets. He tosses it over his shoulder to Angel, who catches it one-handed. "I'm a fucking Boy Scout," says Spike. "Always prepared. Now be a good Brown Owl or whatever the hell it is and fuck me."

 

Angel begins to slick up his cock, as Spike watches him from under heavily-lidded eyes.

 

"I hate you," Angel says.

 

It earns him only another lazy, heated smile. "Yeah well, that's kind of the point, isn't it? That's why you keep running away from pretty Nina in such a panic. Or the even prettier Wesley. You don't want to be with someone you don't hate. With someone who doesn't hate you. You don't dare."

 

He breaks off as Angel pushes his cock against Spike's ass, and raises his legs over Angel's shoulders. "Do it," he says, his voice more ragged now. "Do it. You know it's what you want. It's what you've always wanted." His hand moves down to his own cock and begins to stroke. "I won't make you happy, Angel. I know too much, don't I? You can do whatever you like to me and you'll never have to worry about your precious fucking soul because I will never let you forget. What you are, what you've done. What _we've_ done."

 

His words choke off as Angel moves his hips, pushing his aching cock inside Spike's ass in one long smooth stroke.

 

"Fuck," someone says. "Fuck, oh fuck." Angel thinks it might even be him. His whole body trembles as the fiery pleasure in his cock shoots through him and he throws back his head and howls, no longer caring who might hear. Fuck them, he _needs_ this.

 

He begins to rock his hips, watching as his cock slides so beautifully in and out of Spike's ass and oh yes, he's missed this, he's missed this more than he would know how to say, even if he didn't have a hope in hell of finding any word in his brain other than _Spike._

 

"Yeah," says Spike, and the words sound like they're being torn from his throat. "You like this, don't you? Fucking me. Putting your cock in me, making me bleed, making me come, making me yours. Always liked it. Nearly as much as you liked beating the fucking shit out of me, didn't you? You remember that, Angel? How you used to beat me half to death and then fuck what was left? How it used to get you off to cut me, to bleed me? How you used to make me scream?"

 

Pull out, push in. Hot fire enveloping his cock, his body. Spike's voice, getting ever more ragged as he pumps into his own fist.

 

"It's what always gets you off best, isn't it? The violence, the pain. The blood. Because you're a monster, Angel. Just like me. You - you - "

 

The words trail off into a long, shuddering groan as Spike comes, his body jerking and pushing against Angel until he is also lost to the white fire of orgasm. He pulls out with a sigh and collapses onto the floor.

 

"You bastard," he says.

 

Spike laughs. "You're welcome."

 

*

 

Angel swears it won't happen again. Every time, he swears. And Spike smirks, and nods, and says 'sure, whatever you say, mate.' And sometimes they fight and sometimes they stare at each other in frozen silence, but always - always - it ends the same way; in brutal, punishing sex, with both of them sweating and naked and bloody, screaming in pain and defiance and pleasure.

 

And he swears it won't happen again.

 

*

 

Angel's surprised to see Andrew back in LA - and even more so to see him leaning casually on Harmony's desk, nodding to the people filing in as if he owned the place.

 

"What are you doing here?" Angel snaps.

 

Harmony suddenly finds something very fascinating in her notebook. Andrew straightens up and looks him up and down. "Where's Spike?" he asks.

 

"Spike? I don't know and I don't care."

 

"Well, I do."

 

"Andrew, if you're here for a reason then say so. Now. Otherwise get the hell out of my office." He knows the irritation is showing in his voice but he doesn't try to stop it. He doesn't have time to pander to Andrew's delusions of importance.

 

Andrew lifts his chin defiantly, and it looks like the kid really did grow some balls from somewhere. "I am given to understand that you and Spike have lately been indulging in certain activities. Certain _carnal_ activities."

 

"I see. And how, exactly, are you given to understand this?"

 

Andrew says nothing, but his eyes flick to Harmony.

 

Angel stares at her, and she shrugs. "Sorry," she says. "But you haven't exactly been discreet, Angel."

 

"You've been discussing my private business with _him?_"

 

"No! No, I was actually talking to Norma, in Hexes &amp; Curses, and it turns out her cousin went to school with a girl in England whose father plays golf with this guy who knows Giles, and we were all like 'wow, it really is a small world', and - and - I don't think that's helping so maybe I'll just shut up now."

 

"Harmony - "

 

"And I think, " Andrew says loudly, cutting Angel off, "that those activities should stop."

 

Angel looks at them both with his best executive neutrality. It helps to keep the anger under control.

 

"Well _I_ don't think this is any of your business," he says.

 

Andrew gives him a tight little smile. "Other people think differently."

 

"What other people?"

 

"That would be me," says a new voice, and Angel looks around. Stares at the figure walking through the door.

 

"Buffy," he says, when he finds his voice. She looks good; composed, centred. He envies her that.

 

"Yeah. I know, Angel. I know everything."

 

He glances from Buffy to Andrew to Harmony. "What is this, some kind of intervention?"

 

Buffy walks up to stand at Andrew's shoulder. "If you like," she says. "Angel - you must know this isn't right. It's not - healthy."

 

He runs a hand across his eyes. "Buffy. I appreciate your - your concern. I do. But it's not needed. The - situation - between me and Spike is under control. It's fine. _I'm_ fine. There's no need for you to worry."

 

Andrew opens his mouth, but Buffy puts her hand on his arm and he stills. She gives Angel a calm, measured look. "It's not you I'm worried about," she says.

 

"What?"

 

"We're here for Spike," says Andrew, shaking off Buffy's hand. "You're welcome to tread your dark path, vampire, but we're not standing by while you take Spike with you."

 

"Angel," says Buffy, shooting an annoyed look at Andrew. "What's happening here - it's not good for Spike. It's not fair." She looks down briefly. "Believe me, I know. I can't - I can't let you do what I did." She raises her eyes back to his. "He deserves better than that."

 

"It's not the same thing. Not at all. You -" he stops. _You didn't love him._ "You were mixed up. You didn't understand what you were getting into."

 

"We're not going to let you seduce him into your evil empire," says Andrew, folding his arms. "Spike is a warrior of the light, and he doesn't belong here."

 

Angel looks away. He knows he should counter that, but realises he simply doesn't know how. Spike, Wesley, Fred, Gunn, Lorne - do any of them really belong here?

 

"Let him go, Angel," says Buffy. "This isn't right. You know it isn't."

 

"Buffy, I - I never wanted this to happen. He - he -"

 

_He started it? Oh, yes, Angel, very mature._

 

He shakes his head. "How did we get to this?" he asks, wonderingly. "Buffy? What happened to us?"

 

Her face softens, just a little bit. "Nothing that I understand."

 

*

 

Spike, typically, is nowhere to be found when he's actually wanted. In the end it's Fred who finds him, engrossed in a game of poker in the mail room. She explains to him that he has a visitor, and who that visitor is. Angel stays out of the way. He likes pain, sure, but there are limits.

 

*

 

"So," says Spike, "the Slayer thinks LA is sorted as far as helping the helpless goes - reckons I should be fighting the good fight back on her turf."

 

Angel can hear Spike's boots scuffing at the carpet, and the little flick and hiss of his lighter. He doesn't turn round.

 

"Although it looks like they've got Europe and South America pretty much covered, between them. Powers of good don't seem spread so thin these days, what with all the new Slayers running around."

 

The window glass is dirty; smudged and smeared. He makes a mental note to speak to Harmony. Maybe they need new cleaners.

 

"I guess it does sound as if Faith might be able to use a hand over in Cleveland, though. Never knew the place was such a demon magnet."

 

The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds; too slow, too loud.

 

"So this is what you think too, is it? That I should go do the whole hero thing somewhere else?"

 

Finally, Angel opens his mouth, and somehow manages to make the unsayable _No. I don't want you to go into_: "Yes."

 

"Right. Right. Well, looks like this is it, then. Duty calls, and all that."

 

Duty, yes. Not want. Not need. Duty. What was it Buffy had said? T_he mission is what matters. Otherwise people died for nothing._

 

There's a long pause. "Are you still here?" Angel says eventually.

 

Spike gives a short laugh. "Yeah, well, I suppose that's about what I expected. Love you too, asshole."

 

Angel waits a long time, until he's absolutely sure that Spike is gone. "Yeah," he says.


End file.
